On my list of favorite topics to write about, education ranks 367th, just above proctology exams. However, a recent article in my local paper prompted me to speak out.

Like many states, Indiana is a strong believer in standardized testing to determine educational progress. ISTEP, an acronym for Indiana Statewide Testing for Educational Progress, is the annual brain test that Indiana students must participate in. You’ll notice that this test is known by its acronym, because a test isn’t a test unless it has a catchy acronym.

In previous years, the ISTEP victims, or rather the participants, were students in grades 7 to 10. The test itself lasts four days, eight hours each day. To top it off, it is one of those tests that requires the taker to fill in the number bubbles with a number 2 pencil that must remain sharpened to a fine point. If for some reason the pencil mark goes outside the number bubble, not only will the question be marked wrong, but the Earth will spin on its axis and Hillary Clinton will be elected president.

Because the ISTEP test was designed by government officials, it is an incompatible mix of math, science, English, and insider trading. The test contains material that is not covered in school and can only be learned if the student is committed to a mental institution and is subsequently elected to Congress.

ISTEP history issues are often oddly worded:

If a train leaves Denver traveling at 72 mph and another train leaves Communist-controlled China traveling at 46 mph, how much did Orson Welles weigh in 1946?

This year, the state legislator decided that the ISTEP test would be administered to grades 3-10. The announcement has caused quite a stir.

I’m worried about the fact that I can still remember what it was like to be in third grade, and if you think about it, I’m sure you can too.

Grades 1-3 are not considered, at least by me, as great learning times. As I recall, I went through the entire third grade with only three things on my mind, just like all the other third graders. We were, of course, trying to figure out how far you could stick your finger up your nostril before having to be sent to the nurse’s office. After several months of experimentation, we determined that just below the wrist was a safe distance—unless you were gifted like Meryl Streep, of course, then the possibilities were endless.

Our next area of ​​concern was pencils. As was tradition, third grade was the year we received the huge 64-piece box of crayons, complete with sharpener. Our question, which was never answered, was why was there a white crayon? White crayons would not show up on anything, not even on black paper. One member of our group ate his white crayon to test the theory that it was placed in the box as a cleverly disguised snack. He would report the next day that not only was it not a snack, but he kept it in the bathroom all night with the “emergencies.” No test in the world can provide knowledge like that.

Our last concern was the girls. We were too young to know why we wanted to know about girls, but we wondered nonetheless. At random intervals, my colleagues and I would run up and ask a girl a predetermined question, like: Have you ever eaten a crayon? We then report back to the group with the answer. We collected answers to 4,700 questions that school year, and we were still no closer to understanding girls than we are now.

I think the third grade mentality will eventually bring ISTEP to its knees. After all, who cares about the Riemann hypothesis, Newton’s third law, or the cornstarch story when you’re sticking your finger up your nose for the sake of science?